Hot Pink
by Dear Aunt Elladora
Summary: Emma Nelson learned the hard way that sometimes retail therapy won't cure all your problems, but getting paid a visit sometimes will. Featuring a cynical Emma, a discount dress, and one adorable boy.


_"And I'll belong to you_

_If you just let me through._

_This is easy as lovers go,_

_So don't complicate it _

_by hesitating."_

**-As Lovers Go by Dashboard Confessional**

Angriness is identified by the gray bra straps, the stubborn things that hang uselessly off your shoulders in your attempt to try on this _stunning_ dress. It looked gorgeous on the rack, just perfectly crisp and neat and just - _your_ dress. But no use eluding yourself now, there's no way you could walk out the house with this on.

And that little nagging voice that seems to always be there in the back of your head asks you who you're intending on impressing. It's just another party with the same ignorant fools at every party. Just a dance, an excuse for the people your age to get drunk or stoned or both and rub up agianst one another in attempt to make up for their lack of life. You're such a pessimist, but it's just so easy these days.

The dress is hot pink. You stayed away from that sparking color for the longest you could but there, in that sale loop of mundane, solid coloured t-shirts and morbidly ill-fitting jeans it just caught your eye. Such a find, the counter woman with claws for fingernails said as she rung up the discounted price. And now you slid into its unbelievably soft, satiny contours and allowed it to cling to your body as no other article of clothing ever had.

But why were you at the mall? Typically the place gave you a migraine like no other, it reeked of perfume in one corner and the food court's deep-fat-fried specialty in the other. But you had a bad day and perhaps retail therapy could cushion your bruises. You finally came clean and told him exactly how you felt. And, even though it stings so that your vision of yourself in the mirror blurs a bit, he walked away.

The dress makes you look tan, and skinny. It accentuates your curves and makes your body look and feel unbelievable. It swishes when your twirl, the wisps of fabric at the bottom brush your thighs and you feel like everything fits. But sighing, you figure a party's not worth it. No use in going and possibly seeing him again and having everything crumble at your feet again.

You head to your bed and prepare to take the dress off, but then the door bursts open and you freeze mid-step between the floor-length princess mirror and your bed.

"Emma." He says with a sharp intake of breath, his eyes widening as he takes this dress in. He flushes red and tries to talk again, but can't manage a coherent word. A sudden rush of anger washes over you.

"What are you _doing_ here?" You snap, crossing your arms over your chest.

"I-I came to talk to you. What are you _wearing_?" he manages.

"I figured from your ovbious silence today you didn't have much to say. Come to rub salt in a wound?" You respond in the same tone, completely ignoring his second question.

"No. I came to tell you what an idiot I was," your eyes narrow as he talks sincerely.

"For what? Being yourself and causing me to fall for you? Yeah, oh so stupid of you to have Emma Nelson be attracted to you. Look, I'm sorry for even thinking of it."

"No. Emma. It's not like that. I'm an idiot for walking away today. I should've said something, done something, told you the truth." Suddenly he looks down and this only makes you feel angrier. He shifts his weight from sneakered-foot to sneakered-foot.

"Which is? Come _on_, Manning, you've come all the way over here to break my heart so stop with the fabrications. I'm not an eight-year-old." You raise your eyebrows impatiently and he slowly raises his head to make his eyes match yours.

"That I love you. That I have since weeks ago when I walked in on you passed out in the bed with Angie. That I love the way you smile, how you're always standing up for what you believe in, I love how you try to figure everything out." His chocolate eyes are melting you and your anger dies away, only to be replaced with this shock, and sudden self-conciense.

You push up on the gray straps at your arm and you can feel your face heat up. "Oh," is all you can say, and suddenly it's really very hard to breathe and it's your turn to stare at the floor.

You can hear his breathe as he comes up close to you and slides a hand under your chin, raising your eyes to his. And he kisses you and you wrap your arms around him.

You break the kiss eventually and notice you've been standing on your tiptoes to kiss him. He's grinning like mad and so are you.

"Now, _what_ are you wearing?" He says playfully and you groan, pulling him back for a kiss.

* * *

**Author's Note:** now people, it's 11:40 on a Monday night. I didn't go to the movies with everyone but rather stayed home to read britreviews on Prisoner of Azkaban and watch O.C. reruns. I'm happy to announce grades were posted today and I am now in AP Math! I despise Math... haha. But also my best friend is back together with his girlfriend and ... I want to scream and vomit at the same time. She's a bitch, you see, and he flirts far too much and knows me far too well. Oh shucks, I know you all are porbably very bored with those insanely long note, but there is more I need to say! 

This fic came about from me just sitting down to gets some of the nasties out of me, no thought or anything and just typed what came to me. I have on this annoying gray bra (haha) that inspired the first bit and I really didn't decide what fanon (OC or Degrassi or RFR) it was going to be until a while down the road. The pairing... dun dun dun ... is Craig/Emma in case you hadn't figured it out. But if you don't like that it could prolly be Anyone/Emma, just have fun.

**_And review? Please!_**


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